Red Year
by Weasley-Gurl
Summary: Ginny's first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be the most exciting year of her life. She's known this forever, but her new diary might just make her year a little more exciting than she suspected.
1. Were It Only Too Easy

Disclaimer: I don't own Ginny, Tom, Harry, the diary, the Burrow, the bathroom, the overflowing toilet, or anything else in here that you might recognize from the Harry Potter books. They all belong to JK Rowling, a most wonderful author who would be one of my favorite people on this Earth if she would just get the 5th book out! I do however, own this plot (I think!) and though I would be greatly honored if anyone thought this was good enough to copy, I will ask that you please e-mail me if you wish to use it. (Don't worry, I know none of you would want to take this anyway.)  
  
Author's Note: I hope everyone likes this story. I'm taking a break from Kat, starting on this story and another one called While We Were Walking which I have already posted. If I get some positive reviews, I'll continue this (I'll probably continue it anyway, but the review's help.) I live in Texas, US of A so my 'British speak' isn't at it's best, even though I read more British literature than anyone I know. If you catch any of my Texan slang (I'm trying to keep that at a minimum!) just point it out kindly in a review and I'll change it. Thanks! Now on with the show…  
  
Red Cover, Red Hair, Red Tears…  
  
Red Year  
By Weasley Gurl  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 1: Were It Only Too Easy  
  
Ginny Weasley was in a room. It was neither small, nor large, but all the same it was a room, and at once one would know that this room was special. The room had a presence, a meaning, and it evoked a feeling of old times, generations past, but a time when darkness and light were still both in existence and both dominating in their own sense. And were one to look past the chipped sinks, lined up on a grime-covered wall, and the stalls with doors hanging half off their hinges, this bathroom could be described as nothing less than majestic. It gave that feeling, it had that sense, it was that presence.   
  
For Ginny, it was still only a bathroom, a dirty, ruined, old bathroom, whose only good quality was that it provided a place of solitude. And that was exactly what she needed. For were this any other bathroom, the flood that was now erupting from the far toilet may have been noticed, as would the object lodged in that toilet. And for Ginny, no worse thought could come than anyone finding that object. Because she knew that were it to be found by another, it would eventually come back to her. And she didn't want it.   
  
***********************************************************************  
  
It was sunny at the Burrow, and the yard was alive with the sounds of laughing children enjoying their last days of summer. A game was in play involving three red heads and a scrawny boy with glasses. They were high in the air, clinging to broomsticks, and throwing a ball the color of the formers' hair. A fourth red head, the only girl present, was lounging in the tall grass, laying on her stomach and propped up on one elbow, using her free hand to write in a tiny book. She finished with one final line, then set her tattered quill down and positioned her arm to mimic the other. She stared at the book, as if studying what she had just written, and at once her face lit up and her rosy cheeks rose up as her lips curved into a smile, forming dimples. She hastily reached for the old quill and immediately went back to her previous task. And so this went for countless hours, each time her smile growing as she looked upon what was seemingly her own words.  
  
This was one Virginia Anne Weasley, fondly known as Ginny, or not-so-fondly, in the case of some of her brothers. The book was her diary, which she had found in an old school book her mother had bought in a second hand shop. The diary was her dearest friend at this moment, she loved it more than she had ever loved an object in her life, and definitely more than she presently loved her brother, Ron, who had only just yesterday laughed at her with his best friend, Harry Potter.   
  
Ginny laughed, a small giggle which mingled with the voices of the small birds which lived in the oak nearby. She looked again at the page her diary was opened to, which was, oddly enough not the thirty-first of August, but rather the second of March. This is what was on the page:  
  
  
Well, if his hair is so messy, then why doesn't he just cut it?  
  
  
This was odd for many reasons, but apparently, was quite normal for Ginny who at once wrote on the page:  
  
  
He can't just cut it, Tom. It won't fix it; besides, I think it looks kind of sweet. Honestly, you sound like my mother. "I could cut it for you, Harry dear." Now, as I was saying…  
  
  
How hours of writing could produce only a single question, which looked to be written to the writer, and who exactly Tom was, one could not know without further insight to this diary. You see, this was no more an ordinary book than Ginny Weasley was an ordinary girl. Neither was this an ordinary house nor were the boys playing any ordinary sport. For, to any of the so-called and self-proclaimed "ordinary" persons in this world, all truths to the workings of the previously described object would be mistaken as fairy-tail gibberish spoken by children to draw the attentions of their elders.  
  
This diary was magical, which in turn brought truth to the fairy-story theory, but all the same… It was inhabited by a presence known simply as 'Tom' who came and went as he pleased most times but who, for the past twelve hours, had stayed faithfully in that page labeled March 2nd, conversing with none other than little Ginny. It had only been in the last three hours that they had been out on the grounds of the Burrow, and before that, Tom had found himself lodged between a glass of juice and a patched up Potions manual as Ginny finished the last of her dinner. Ginny seemed happy to spill her entire life story into Tom's book in a most gratifying flood of emotion wrapped around the curling script of her writing. At times, Tom would become bored with the silly girl's ramblings, but during those times he would still allow her to write on, knowing that eventually she would have something of worth to say.  
  
As for Ginny, her new diary was a gift from the heavens. It provided a confidant for her, something which she had truly needed and desperately wanted since the ripe old age of five, when her brother, Ron, had discovered the usefulness of guy friends, and thus left her alone with her thoughts. She could say anything and Tom would be most interested in it, whatever it was. He would answer with witty remarks and a sly cunningness, which struck the eleven-year-old's fancy and left her with a feeling of pure joy at having found such a companion. Tom was cool, and sensitive, and downright hilarious. Ginny simply loved him.  
  
  
March 2nd  
  
  
So what's the deal with this Harry character, anyway? I mean, besides the strange hair and talents on the Quidditch pitch?  
  
  
Oh, Tom, don't you know?!  
He's the Boy Who Lived! But you wouldn't know about that; not if the date on your diary means anything. You see, there was this evil wizard, and he came to kill Harry's family when he was little. He killed Harry's mom and dad but, oh Tom it's so exciting I can't even say! Harry KILLED HIM and he was only just a year old!  
  
  
What was this evil wizard's name?  
  
  
We don't say it, Tom. Nobody does, ever! It's just too scary I suppose. It's like a sort of curse word of the worst kind. But-  
Well, if you promise to erase this page as soon as you read this and never say it again, I suppose….  
  
  
Promise. Cross my heart.  
  
  
His name was VOLDEMORT. 


	2. My Scarlet Chariot

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, places, etc. They all belong to JK Rowling. If I did own Harry Potter and any of the characters from the books, they would all be less entertaining, less well-known, and all about the Weasley twins, especially George.  
  
Author's Note: I know Ginny's a bit off character here, but I picked up from the first book a sense that Ginny had been looking forward to this for a long time. The whole 'grown women do this' thing is really inspired by my personal experiences. See, I'm only a freshman and it seems that the second you step onto the high school side of the school, it's all 'high school girls do this' and 'that is so middle school'. But Ginny won't be this way forever. After the first few weeks, you really start to see that you don't have to do this or stop doing that. After all, no one likes a freshman with an ego. I really see first years at Hogwarts like the freshmen of the magical world, especially for wizard children. And eventually Ginny'll find out that no one likes a first year with an ego. Just give her time.   
  
  
  
Red Cover, Red Hair, Red Tears…  
  
Red Year  
By Weasley Gurl  
  
Chapter 2: My Scarlet Chariot  
  
It was scarlet, Ginny's own chariot into a new life, a life she had wanted forever. It was scarlet, and it spewed steam in great poufs out the top of the equally scarlet tower which adorned its front end. It was scarlet, and on it were written in curvy writing the words Hogwarts Express.   
  
Ginny stood with her mother, barley restraining herself from simultaneously collapsing and making a mad dash for the steam engine in front of her. It was just as she had dreamed; and rightly so, since she had seen this train every year since before she could remember. Bill had climbed aboard and become Head Boy, Charlie had followed and in his turn come out a Quidditch Captain and master of dragons, Percy and Fred and George had all entered it, and all had returned eagerly awaiting the return of that scarlet engine. Ron had left only last year, and come back the best friend of a historical figure. And this year, it was her turn. It was her fiery engine, her black boarding steps, her steam. And there was something different in the air this year, and the smoke seemed to form special and more intricate patterns than in years before, and suddenly, Ginny felt a fresh surge of pride, and joy, and triumph. This was her year.  
  
She clutched her trunk in a death grip that no manticore would have been able to escape and grinned so broadly that she though her face might split in two. Her mother swooped down on her, engulfing her in a powerful hug and muttering about her baby. Ginny didn't mind, for today was her day, and if her mother wished to call her a baby one last time, so be it. After all, today was her last day as a baby. When her mother next saw her, she would not be little Ginny Weasley who sits with her mother and knits while her brothers are away at school, but Virginia Weasley, changed girl, no, that wouldn't do: changed woman. Her grin broadened; she couldn't wait another second.  
  
Mrs. Weasley pulled away reluctantly, her eyes tearing and her grip lingering just a second longer, then turned to each of her sons in turn. Ginny faintly heard mention of Ron, and Harry, but for the first time that summer, she paid it no mind. She was bobbing on the balls of her feet, George's old sneakers collapsing and reforming as the high tops met ankle and parted again. Another second, another, then-  
  
"Well, then," said Mrs. Weasley, her voice croaking and her eyes puffy, "You be good, and study hard. And Ginny, I love you."  
  
"You too, Mum," said Ginny distractedly as she bobbed up one last time and kissed her mother's cheek. 'After all,' she thought, 'I won't be doing that once I've become a changed woman.'  
  
And at that point, Ginny Weasley lost every bit of her self-control and dashed off to the train. She was leaving behind childish things and trading them in for texts of foreign theories and sports played by seventeen year olds. She was leaning and leaning and suddenly she realized that she was ready to jump the fence. She was mature, and independent and-  
  
"Need help with that trunk, sister mine?" It was Fred. Fred and George, George and Fred, Weasley twins and Ginny's ankle weights. How could they expect her to be independent and allow them to carry around her trunk as if she were some hopeless, helpless… child?!   
  
Ginny bit her lip and threw back the thought of glaring at them just as easily as she threw back a clump of red hair over her shoulder. 'After all, women don't glare. Mature women toss their hair and sniff haughtily as if it were obvious that they were no weakling child. I'm so getting the hang of this.' Ginny threw her head to the side and balanced her free hand unnecessarily on her hip, then sniffed haughtily, or at least tried to sniff haughtily. She sneezed: a great blast which she was positive the group of fifth years a few feet off had heard. 'Darn, stupid, allergies!'   
  
And of course her loving brothers laughed in her face, as she blushed a deep scarlet in a mixture of fury and humiliation. Ginny grabbed her trunk fiercely and heaved in up the steps, throwing it into the first empty compartment she saw. She immediately reached into the pockets of her Muggle jeans and pulled out the old diary; it's black cover felt somehow right in her hands and she opened it gently and retrieved writing utensils from her trunk. It was on July the 16th where Tom happened to pop up on this day, and she immediately scribbled down her thoughts. She stopped, paused for a second, awaiting his reply. Suddenly her black ink seeped back up through the pages in reformed words just screaming for her to read them.  
  
  
'I see you're ready for a big change, then.'  
  
  
Ginny sighed, then immediately checked herself. Sighing was not permitted unless it was in flirtation. That's how it went in all the witching hour soaps on the WWN. No one ever sighed in frustration there.  
  
  
'Of course I'm ready, Tom. Don't you see what I'm telling you?! I'm going to Hogwarts and I'm not going to be a kid anymore! I'm simply bouncing with excitement. Were you, when you went to Hogwarts?'   
  
  
It took longer for him to respond, and Ginny wondered faintly if maybe Tom hadn't gone to Hogwarts. But that was impossible. After all, all the best and brightest of the magical community went to Hogwarts and Tom was certainly bright.  
  
  
'I was in the same state exactly. It looks like not much has changed since I left school. When you get there, you'll have to check some things for me, and I'll tell you some of my memories from school. I could show you some exciting places, Ginny.'  
  
  
Ginny squealed with excitement and this time didn't bother to stop herself. Exciting. He had said it: the magic word. And there was no way Ginny was letting adventure away from her. Excitement was very grown-up. Children never did exciting things.  
  
Suddenly the compartment door slid open and George walked in, closely followed by Fred. Ginny promptly shut the diary and looked at them, silently asking what they wanted.  
  
"'Ve you seen Ron anywhere?" Fred asked, shooting an annoyed glance in the direction of her diary.   
  
"We can't find him or Harry anywhere and Hermione Granger's looking for them," finished George, looking nervously towards the hallway. "I think she might be a bit, well… ticked at them, to say the least. She thinks they're either hiding from her or they've gone off to do something odd to Malfoy."  
  
"No," said Ginny, "I haven't seen either of them. Try the other compartments."   
  
George shrugged and turned around and Fred reached over to ruffle Ginny's fiery hair. "You're finally going, kid. We'll have to show you a toilet or two, spend some time showing you the sights." He grinned and tossed her a Fillibuster Firework from his pocket, winking as he closed the door.  
  
Ginny couldn't help but smile. The twins both understood what she had gone through. After Percy had left for Hogwarts, they had both waited just as anxiously for their turn as Ginny had for hers. She looked at the firework, but suddenly her grin melted into a look of horror as she noticed the fuse had nearly reached the detonation point. It went off in a blast of lights, singing her eyebrows and the tips of her hair. She ruffled and huffed out a great sigh, a 'should have known' sigh, then returned to the diary which, she noticed, had not a mark from the explosion.   
  
  
July 16th  
  
  
Fred is a butt.   
  
  
Really? I never knew you came from such an unusual family.  
  
  
He gave me a firecracker and it blew up in my hand. Honestly, Tom, he's such a boy!  
  
  
Ginny? I'm a boy.  
  
  
Oh, but you're not a stupid boy, though, Tom. You understand me. This diary is the best-  
Wait! I meant to ask you, why didn't the diary have any markings from the firework? It blew up right on top of it.  
  
  
One of my many secrets, dearest Ginny. All of which will be revealed to you in time, when you are ready. 


	3. Facade of a Utopia

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it. I would ask for the rights to George and Fred… and Ron while I'm at it for my birthday, but I doubt JKR would be willing to give them to me. L   
  
Author's Note: Ahhh!!! I forgot to thank my reviewers last chapter. So I'll take care of that this chapter:  
Thanks to GeEtErZ and Julienne for reviewing the first chapter and Persephonie, Pseudonym Sylphmuse and GeEtErZ (again) for reviewing the second one. You guys have no idea how much that means to me. I'm trying to get these chapters up as quickly as I can.  
So with that said, on with the show!   
Red Cover, Red Hair, Red Tears…  
  
Red Year  
By Weasley Gurl  
Chapter 3: Façade of a Utopia  
  
The water of the lake felt like silk against Ginny's hand as it glided along beside the small boat. She was shaking, shaking with excitement and joy, and with the knowledge that this was it. The boat was small, but just as a boat should be, after all everything at Hogwarts was perfect. She shared the boat with two other passengers, each of whom were staring with just so much awe at their surroundings as to give away their lineage. Definitely of Muggle birth.   
  
The first was one young Colin Creevy, son of a milkman and lover of anything to do with photography. He was small, and mousy looking, and Ginny liked him at once. After all, he was going to Hogwarts, so he must be a special Muggle-born.   
  
The second was a girl with long trailing hair, black as the night and hanging straight and flowing save two small braids, which curved from either side of her face to meet in the back. She wore glasses with thin silver wire frames and had gray-green eyes which sparkled in joy. She was pale-skinned and thin and had numerous freckles sprinkled across her nose. Ginny had only caught her name, Allison McKinney, before the girl had fallen silent at the beginning of the boat ride, but she saw no reason not to like this girl, either.   
  
It was all so perfect, like a land out of one of her old bedtime stories, from the lake to the many boats holding her fellow classmates to the black robes which she had donned on the train. Ginny suddenly felt that she were part of some wonderful fairy-story, in which everyone goes to a perfect school and has many friends and everything is good and happy and friendly. Ginny looked once again upon her surroundings and at once thought of the Bible and the book of Genesis, which her mother had quoted to her at various points in her life: just as the Lord had looked upon his handiwork and saw that it was indeed good, so Ginny looked upon this lake, these people and saw goodness in all of it. Then they turned a corner and Ginny was filled with a knowledge that she had longed for during her entire existence.  
  
She suddenly knew what the castle of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry looked like. It wasn't just good, it was extraordinary. She let out a small gasp and gave a small shudder, forgetting all thoughts of how mature persons were supposed to act. So also did Colin give a squeal and Allison, at the head of the boat, clapped in joy. The full moon cast a majestic glow upon the castle, putting into bright light the towers climbing higher and higher into the air, which seemed to reach all the way to the heavens.  
  
The boats came to rest on the bank and the booming voice of Hagrid, the gamekeeper, announced that they were to follow him. Allison and Colin climbed out of the boat, and Ginny soon followed. Her stomach felt like a billion pixies were trapped inside, and she shivered in delight as they began to climb the flight of stone steps which lead to a towering door which could only be the entrance to Hogwarts. They congregated in front of a woman with strict eyes and dark hair pulled into a tight bun.   
  
"Welcome," the woman said, as her piercing gaze swept across the mass of students. "I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. If you will follow me, please." With that, she turned and the doors swung open, allowing the woman to enter.  
  
Ginny followed, grinning from ear to ear. She looked around at the candles floating around the ceiling, entranced by the sheer air of majesty that this place possessed. She was dimly aware of the woman's continuation of the speech which had begun outside, but she hardly caught any of it.  
  
"Houses… like family… Ravenclaw, Gryffindor… Slytherin." She glanced at the woman. She was talking about the school houses, but Ginny knew all about them. She had heard Ron and… and Harry talking late into the night about the great rivalry between the houses and the victory which they had experienced last year in breaking Slytherin's winning streak. She had even caught mention of a hat, and was very nearly sure that this hat was meant to have some importance in the sorting of students into the four houses.   
  
They were left in a small room, which was instantly filled with an air of excitement and nerves. Many had not heard of magic before receiving their letter, and the majority of the wizard-born children still had no inkling as to the processes which would lead to their sorting. Ginny had a heads-up on this matter, and though nerves struck her just as fiercely as they did the others, they were entirely different nerves. Less like butterflies and more like manticores. She was sure that she would be sorted into Gryffindor; every Weasley had for generations back far enough that count had been lost long before she was born. But would she be a Gryffindor? She surely wasn't courageous around Harry. Perhaps she would be put into Hufflepuff. That suited her well: loyal and caring and a sweet little Virginia who loved everyone and blushed around her brother's friend…  
  
Her stomach knotted. Slytherin. Though the thought was entirely improbable, it still lingered enough to send a fit of shivers down her spine. She looked to the Slytherin table and… How had she gotten here?! It suddenly occurred to her that she had been lead into a colossal dining room without even realizing she was moving. So this was the Great Hall. Again, she looked to the Slytherin table. They ranged from silently contemplative to smirking quite menacingly to just about any other unpleasantness you could imagine. She hoped with all her heart she wouldn't be sent there.   
  
They had formed a line, and McGonagall was now calling them forwards to take their turns at being sorted. "Creevy, Colin." It was the small boy from the boat. He sat under a strange, patched hat for a while before it bellowed "GRYFFINDOR!" The table to the far right busted with clapping. Ginny recognized Fred, George, and Percy, along with Lee Jordan, who she had met briefly only two years before. She scanned the table for Ron, but only found bush-haired Hermione Granger glancing worriedly between the sorting ceremony and the massive doors on the other side of the room.   
  
"Hall, Kent"   
  
"RAVENCLAW!"  
  
"Irvana, Leslie"  
  
"SLYTHERIN!" (The Slytherins roared menacingly.)  
  
"Jackson, Samantha"  
  
"HUFFLEPUFF!"  
  
"Jeffreson, Ben"  
  
"HUFFLEPUFF!"  
  
"McKinney, Allison" The quiet girl from the boat crept forward. The hat had hardly touched her head when it roared "RAVENCLAW!"  
  
"MacDonald, Olivia… Pratt, Penelope… Roberts, Andy… Smith, Laurie… Thompson, Hannah."  
  
"HUFFLEPUFF!"  
  
"Weasley, Virginia" Ginny walked forward, once again searching for Ron before the world went black. Spots swirled before her eyes as they trained themselves to the shroud of darkness which had engulfed her. The hat covered her entire head, slipping down over her neck even to barely brush against her shoulders and she suddenly wondered why she couldn't have been tall, like her father. Instead, she was petite, with a head that looked as if it could be found in some witchdoctor's hut for all it's size.   
  
"Virginia Weasley. Weasley; I have heard this name many times in the past decade. Do you offer me no diversion from the mold your brothers have set?" It occurred to her that the voice ringing through the darkness was the hat itself, and she began to answer it.  
  
"I don-"  
  
"Of course you are no different. You needn't tell me the obvious. It is you and those accursed Malfoys that give me this grief. Year after year, generation after generation, and still no difference, no challenge, ad- Never you mind. It is pointless to carry on as I do when the young man still to be sorted is bouncing as a young one does when it has wet itself. GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
Ginny, realizing that the hat had declared this to the entire hall, lifted it off her head and set it once again on the stool. She was sorry to have disappointed it, but at the same time, grateful to join her brothers at the Gryffindor table. She sat between George and Hermione Granger, who was chattering worriedly about the missing boys, as Williamson, Derek was sorted into Slytherin.   
June 21st   
Tom?  
Yes, Ginny?  
I'm at Hogwarts. I'm in Gryffindor. Isn't it wonderful?  
Terrific. Where are you now?  
In bed, in my dormitory. It's all red and gold, which are the best colours ever and guess what! Ron and Harry flew to school in Daddy's car.   
I thought you said students traveled by the school train.  
Well, usually they do, but something happened to them at the platform. I'm not sure what yet, all I know is they crashed into this giant tree and got loads of detentions. But no points taken off- no thanks to Professor Snape, though, I imagine.  
Professor who? I missed that.  
Snape. I saw him at the feast and he's just as bad as everyone says, all greasy and scowling, and oh, I hope I don't have potions tomorrow. Snape teaches that, and he's head of Slytherin. I've heard that he knows a lot of dark spells and stuff and I heard Fred say that he killed his first Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher so he could get the job.  
And did he? Get the Defense the Dark Arts job?  
Oh, no. That went to that man, Professor Quodpot or whatever Ron called him- the one who kept You-Know-Who on the back of his head.  
I haven't heard of that one yet- but another time. Tell me more about your dormitory. Where is it?  
Up in a tower somewhere. But Tom, wouldn't it have been in the same place when you were at school?  
You're assuming that I was in Gryffindor.  
Were you not, Tom? You seem so brave. Oh, I'm so sorry that you can't have seen the house commons then. They're so wonderful. What house were you in, then?   
Tom? Are you there?  
Ravenclaw. I was in Ravenclaw.  
Oh, I was so stupid to not have known that, it fits you so perfectly. You'll have to tell me about Ravenclaw one of these days.  
Alright, then. But not tonight, it must be late.  
Yes, it is late. You want to know something funny, Tom?  
Go on.  
For a moment there you had me convinced you were a Slytherin. 


End file.
